(Was in my feelings and ended up writing this 😭—Also, not a poem but a short story)

Should I feel relieved, or should I drown in sorrow?

You were mine, yet you felt like a ghost—always near, never close, a presence just beyond reach. We were stitched together in hellos and goodbyes, and yet, those three words were always a tether, a quiet salvation.

_I love you._

And I did. I loved you like the moon loves the tide—pulling, _aching_, yearning. I cradled our moments like dying embers, desperate to keep them burning. I listened to your stories as if they were scripture, carved you into my bones like a prayer.

But nothing lasts, does it? Even the stars collapse, even the ocean recedes. We grew, we unraveled, still clutching the fragile thread spun from hope. A thread of promises unspoken, of glances that lingered too long, of whispered words that never found the air. _I love you_.—a plea, a truth, a _wound_.

Everything I clung to was woven into three simple words.

But threads fray. They stretch, they thin, they _snap_.

You never broke me—no, you never could. Too gentle, too kind, too impossibly _you_. But I broke. I became the silence between us, the shadow in your wake. It was I who let the thread fall limp in my hands, I who severed what little was left.

Perhaps it was never ours to hold. Perhaps we were only ever meant to be a moment, not a lifetime. And though my heart rebelled, though I begged the heavens to weave you into my fate, God’s hands have written a different story. One where your name is not beside mine, where your path leads elsewhere—somewhere _I_ cannot follow.

But He has written my path too.

One where I will fill empty pages with stories, breathing life into words the way I once breathed you. One where I will be kind, not just to the world, but to _myself_. One where I will cherish the souls who cross my path, lift them as I rise, give them light when they are lost in the dark.

Perhaps I was not meant to love only one person, but to love the world—to change it, to leave it softer than I found it. And though the ache of losing you will remain, I will use it to shape something beautiful.

And yet, even as I walk away, even as I let the memories slip through my fingers like sand, I know—I will _always_ love you, in some quiet, hidden place where time cannot reach.

But I must let you go.

The tears will dry. The hollow ache will soften. A heart once emptied will learn to beat full again. It just takes time. And time—oh, time—has already written our ending.

We _were_ real. We were _fleeting_. _We were everything_, and yet, not enough.

We had our chances, but there will be no more after this. No more waiting, no more aching, no more hoping. Just this. This final moment. _This final breath. This final goodbye._

But if nothing else, if nothing ever remains—know this:

Those three words were always true.

_I really did love you._